


let's destroy each mistake that we made

by lunapark



Series: Easiest When I'm With You [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fights & Make Ups, Genderswap, Girl!Merlin, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7920472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunapark/pseuds/lunapark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shattered mug and a slammed door later, Arthur is left to deal with the aftermath of their first fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's destroy each mistake that we made

**Author's Note:**

> I never anticipated making this a series, but I fell so in love with the Arthur/Girl!Merlin dynamic and, well, here I am! Title taken from "Fake It" by Bastille.

** ••• **

 

The thing about fights with Merlin is that by the end of them, Arthur can't remember what had got them arguing in the first place. 

Usually it was something stupid like leaving the toilet seat up or using the wrong toothbrush or finding hair in the shower. But none of it really ended up mattering because they always made amends the same way—a mumbled apology, a forgiving kiss, and enthusiastic make-up sex.

This time, though, is different.

Because standing in the middle of their kitchen, hands on his hips, breathing loudly through his nose, and staring at the front door Merlin had slammed shut before storming off not even a minute ago, Arthur knows _exactly_ how this fight got started. 

Predictably, it's all his fault.

He had been working on his thesis presentation and Merlin had been making a cup of tea and the next thing Arthur knew, there was a shattered mug and tea all over the kitchen floor and a lot of yelling, mostly from him. Arthur feels all the anger drain out of him like a punctured hot air balloon, replaced instead by bitter, gut-twisting _guilt_ as he recalls all the awful things he had said to Merlin—calling her a klutz and a bumbling fool and a few other names that would've made Morgana disembowel him and then castrate him with his own innards. 

He hadn't meant any of it, of course. The combined stress and lack of sleep had given him a particularly short fuse, and any little thing was bound to set him off—it just so happened that Merlin dropping the mug was like a match to a kerosene lamp and he had, well, blown up (literally). 

Not that it was any excuse. Arthur _knows_ that. He'd known it then, too, when Merlin had tried apologizing and he'd snapped at her instead. Remembering the hurt in her eyes makes something deep inside _his_ chest hurt, like someone's just run him through with a jagged knife and keeps twisting it round and round. 

Arthur had realized how badly he'd fucked up, but it had been too late—because just like that, Merlin was lifting her chin, soft features turning to stone, and grabbing her jacket before heading out the door. But even as she had turned to glare at him over her shoulder, Arthur could see the heartbreak shining in her over-expressive eyes, red and watery.

Arthur presses his hand to his sternum, rubbing the pressure there, willing it to go away because it was getting hard to breathe. 

God, he had _really_ fucked this up. 

Arthur shoots up to his feet, chair scraping nosily on the kitchen floor. Before his brain even has a chance to process what he's doing, he's dialed Merlin's number and has his mobile pressed to his ear, heart juddering in his chest, muttering, "Come on, come on, come on, pick up..."

She doesn't. The phone goes straight to voicemail. 

Arthur tries three more times and leaves a message during his final attempt. "Merlin, it's me. Can we talk? I didn't mean— I wish I didn't— Look, Merlin, I know I acted like a total arsehole and that you had every right to leave, but I... God, I'm shit at this. Merlin, will you come home? Please?" 

_Please._

** ••• **

Arthur doesn't realize he's fallen asleep at his laptop until the loud roar of ambulance sirens jolts him awake with a gasp. He rubs at his eyes blearily and glances at the digital clock on the oven that reads 11:36 in glaring red; and then it hits him all at once, like a bucket of ice water poured down his shirt—the fight, the yelling, Merlin leaving.

_Merlin_.

Arthur reaches for his mobile, nearly dropping it in his hurry to check for any text messages or voicemails from Merlin. But there's nothing from her, only a voicemail and a couple of texts from people who _aren't Merlin_ , so he ignores them. Arthur clears his notifications and pauses to stare at the lockscreen photo he took of Merlin last autumn, her face scrunched up in a laugh as she pulls an errant yellow leaf out of her ponytail. 

He doesn't think about trying to call her again or the first draft of his presentation that's due Monday or his Sunday brunch plans with Morgana, doesn't think about _anything_ that's not different variations of the same thing: have to find Merlin now. 

Arthur grabs his hoodie from the closet just as another round of ambulance sirens start sounding in the distance and suddenly he feels sick to his stomach, just thoroughly awash with panic and fear because _what if something's happened to her_? Merlin doesn't have her driver's license and her bicycle is in the garage which means she was (or still is) walking alone in the dark; and as much as Merlin insists that she can take care of herself and has taken self-defense classes, there are all manner of creeps and depraved criminals out roaming the streets, just waiting for a girl who is alone to walk by. And Arthur would never, ever forgive himself if something happened to Merlin, if she got hurt or—

Arthur is out the door before he even has a chance to finish the thought.

** ••• **

The commotion outside turns out to be a massive three-car accident that's backed up incoming traffic on the main road, so Arthur has no choice but to set out running on foot, weaving his way through the throngs of onlookers crowded around the street corners. He zips up his hoodie and pulls the hood over his head, weighing his options. 

He could try getting in touch with Freya, but as sweet as she's always been to him, she's also fiercely overprotective of Merlin and Arthur isn't ready to face the explosive wrath of someone so tiny yet lethal. There's Gwaine, but he lives all the way across town so Arthur would have to take a cab just to get over there, which would be a huge waste of time (that, and Gwaine's always had a painfully obvious crush on Merlin; and as petty as it sounds, Arthur really doesn't want to deal with that right now). 

And as for Will—well, no. 

Arthur narrows it down to Gwen, who will undoubtedly give him her signature look of disapproval and make him feel like shit, but she won't explode and he can actually count on her to be helpful. So that's how Arthur finds himself knocking on Gwen's tiny one-bedroom flat, sweaty and out of breath. 

But when the door opens, it's not Gwen who answers it. It's her boyfriend, Lance, blinking at him curiously.

Arthur is suddenly all too aware of how he must look—he hasn't showered since last night, his hair is a rumpled mess under his hood, and he has about two days' worth of too-long-to-be-stubble-but-too-short-to-be-a-beard on his face. Arthur stands up straighter, decidedly ignoring how put together Lance looks, even in his flannel pajama bottoms and UNICEF t-shirt.

"Arthur," he greets, flashing a warm smile and looking annoyingly pleasant for someone who's just been woken up. "Gwen was right. I guess you're here for—"

"Merlin is missing," Arthur cuts in, impatient and unapologetic as blind panic starts to seep in. "We got into an argument hours ago and she just stormed off. I haven't seen her since. She won't answer my calls so I've no idea where she could be and I—" His voice shakes. "I'm so afraid something's happened to her."

"Arthur—"

"It was all my fault," Arthur goes on, pulling off his hood to rake his fingers through his hair. "I lost my temper and I acted like a total prick. She had every right to—"

"But, Arthur—"

"—leave, but she should be back by now, and I called her four times on my way over and sent her maybe a dozen texts, but she's not—"

" _Arthur_ ," he says firmly, "she's here."

He continues babbling on the edge of hysteria for another second or two before Lance's words finally register. Then he drops his hands to his sides and stares, mouth hanging open stupidly.

"Huh?"

Lance smiles patiently, though he looks very close to laughing. "Merlin. She's here."

"She's..." And as the adrenaline leaves him, Arthur feels like his legs have just turned to jelly and he sags against the door. "You— You mean she's been _here_ " he points to the ground "all this time?"

"I just got back from the soup kitchen"—because, yes, of _course_ Lance volunteered at a bloody soup kitchen—"about an hour ago, but she was here at the time, yeah."

"Why didn't anyone think to tell me?" Arthur asks, more sharply than he'd intended.

But Lance just regards him kindly, like he's a stray pup that's been found digging in the dumpster. "Gwen said she did. She texted you and left you a voicemail." 

"Oh God." Arthur closes his eyes. Embarrassed doesn't even begin to describe how he feels. Heat creeps up the back of his neck. This whole ordeal could've been avoided if he'd just— "I've fucked up big time, haven't I?"

He means for it to be rhetorical, but Lance just claps his shoulder sympathetically. "Happens to the best of us, mate. They do say love makes you do strange things," he says, stepping back and motioning for Arthur to come inside. "Maybe go sort things out with her?" He drops his voice to a whisper. "She seems pretty upset."

Arthur winces. "Yeah," he says grimly. "Listen, sorry for waking you and Gwen up and intruding like this."

"It's no trouble," Lance says in that overly sincere way of his that would make Arthur suspicious if it was anyone else. "Gwen reckoned you might be coming. She left an extra blanket for you two on the sofa."

Arthur cracks a smile. "An angel, that woman is." 

"She really is," Lance agrees. The lovestruck look on his face makes Arthur glance away, feeling guilty and inept. Why couldn't he be more like that when it came to Merlin?

"Sleep well," Lance says, patting his arm. "And good luck," he adds, grinning encouragingly.

Arthur snorts. "Thanks. I'll need it."

He watches Lance leave and return to the bedroom before unzipping his hoodie and hanging it on the coat rack. He catches sight of himself in the small mirror by the entryway and combs his fingers through his hair haphazardly before realizing it's useless and that he's just stalling for time. Arthur takes a deep breath and takes a few steps forward, then turns the small corner into the living room.

When he sees Merlin sitting on the sofa, with a huge tub of what looks like raspberry gelato in her lap, he's equal parts relieved and nervous. Her damp hair is clipped back into a high messy bun and she's wearing rubber ducky pajama bottoms (likely Gwen's) and a huge pink t-shirt that reads **STRESSED SPELLED BACKWARDS IS DESSERTS** (definitely Gwen's). Merlin must notice him, but she doesn't even spare him a passing glance, her eyes glued to the television as she watches some not- _Star Trek_ movie that's got Chris Pine in it, a metal spoon shoved in her mouth.

Arthur takes a few tentative steps towards the couch, then pulls off his trainers and sits down. There are a lot of things he could say—"I'm sorry" or "I was so worried about you" or even a simple hello. 

Instead, he blurts, "You've, um, got some gelato in your hair."

That gets her attention. Merlin's eyes cut across sharply to his own; they're red-rimmed and puffy, like she's been crying for a long time. "And you've got a bird or two living in that nest you call hair," she retorts, then proceeds to stab her spoon through the gelato. "Haven't you got a presentation to finish?" 

Arthur watches her warily for a few more seconds, trying to gather his thoughts and find the right words—and by right he means something that won't upset Merlin more than he already has. 

"I know that I hurt you," he settles on tentatively. 

"Figure that out all by yourself, did you?" she snorts. "Well done."

"I'm sorry," he rushes to say. "I wasn't thinking straight, I was tired and stressed—and I know that isn't an excuse," he adds hastily when she opens her mouth, "I know that didn't give me the right to act like a massive dick. I don't know what I was thinking—I probably _wasn't_ thinking, honestly—and as much as I want to, I can't take back all those awful things I said to you, but I didn't mean any of them. I'd never purposely hurt you, you know that, and I'm...I'm just so _sorry_ , Merlin." 

Merlin is quiet as she looks away from him and down at the rapidly melting gelato. She stirs her spoon around in it, mashing the chunks into an unappealing soupy pink mixture. "You should be," she mumbles.

"When you didn't come back home, I was so afraid something had happened to you," Arthur says, closing his eyes and shaking his head at the thought. "I know that I'm the idiot for not listening to Gwen's voicemail, but I was in such a panic that I wasn't thinking straight. I thought someone had—"

"I can take care of myself," Merlin snaps, just like Arthur knew she would. "I don't need to be coddled."

"We're dating and, believe it or not, I _care_ about you," Arthur says, exasperated. "Doesn't that mean I'm allowed to worry about you, even a little bit?" 

"You have a funny way of showing it," Merlin murmurs. She pauses the movie, puts the gelato on the coffee table, and turns to face him, knee touching his thigh. "Do you know what hurt the most?" She presses her lips together and blinks rapidly, her eyelashes coming away wet. "You... You didn't even try to stop me from leaving."

Arthur doesn't even know what to say, too overcome with that familiar bitter feeling of shame, regret, and ineptitude. Here he is, about to make Merlin cry again, and what does that say about him? For not the first time, he feels undeserving of her, Will's snarled "you're just a prissy spoiled brat" loud and clear in his ears. He slumps back against the couch, rubbing his eyes hard with the heels of his palms. 

"I'm...bad at this. It would almost be comical if it wasn't so fucking pathetic." He huffs out a laugh. "But I guess old habits die hard, especially when you were raised by a man who thought emotions signified weakness. Holding it all in until it kills you or you develop a bleeding ulcer, whichever comes first—that's the Pendragon way."

Arthur chuckles humorlessly. When he finally chances a glance at Merlin, she looks deeply sad—sadder than he's ever seen her, sadder than should be allowed. And it's all because of him, he realizes a painful heartbeat later, watching Merlin fold her arms around herself. _He's_ the one making her look that way, feel that way.

"I'm never going to be Lance or Gwaine or," he gestures carelessly to the television, "Chris Pine, or whoever else it is that you fancy. I'm only ever going to be Arthur. And I know that's never going to be good enough because you deserve so much better. But I can only ever be me, with my short temper and my tendency to get jealous over stupid things and the insecurities I'm embarrassed to admit." His face heats just confessing that. "But I want you to know that...even if it doesn't seem like it because I'm always cocking it up, I'm trying to be better, to be the person that you deserve—and I _want_ to keep trying. For you. For us, Merlin." His voice cracks. "And I'm so sorry I let you leave like that when all I wanted was for you to stay."  

Arthur stares down at his hands, which at some point had curled into fists, skin stretched taut over his knuckles. He can't bring himself to look at Merlin in the eyes again, and he's preparing himself for the worst—for Merlin to call off things between them, tell him that she's moving out at the end of this term because she can't deal with someone so emotionally stunted and boxed in on himself. It wouldn't be the first time, either. It's the same reason why none of his past relationships had ever panned out; he would screw up somehow, inevitably, and she would call it quits. Even someone as patient as Mithian couldn't handle all his blunders. 

So it comes as a surprise when Merlin reaches out and places her hand atop his own, fingers loosening his fist and slipping against his palm, making his breath catch in his throat. Merlin scoots closer so she's almost halfway in his lap and rests her other hand on his cheek, then flicks his ear when he doesn't look at her. 

"You're stupid," she says after he finally looks up, a faint smile on her lips. "So very stupid." 

"Add that to my list of faults," he grumbles, genuinely hurt.

"Arthur," she tries, softer this time. Her hand grasps the back of his neck, thumb stroking his nape soothingly. "I just meant... How could you possibly think that I want you to be someone else? I don't want you to be Lance or Gwaine. And as for Chris Pine, well..." She sighs forlornly and Arthur's mouth twitches, an aborted smile. "I can live, I suppose."

"How charitable of you." 

Merlin's answering smile is fleeting. "If I wanted someone else, then I would've broken up with you a long time ago. I don't waste my time," she says seriously. "But you, Arthur Pendragon, even with your many faults and your..." She pauses to consider.

"Pratitude?" he supplies.

"I was going to say 'dollopheadedness,' but pratitude works too," she agrees brightly. Arthur just shakes his head at her, fond.  

"But even with all that," she continues, "I know there's something genuine about you. I see glimpses of it, like that time you stopped on the side of the road to rescue a lost puppy, or walked to the library in the pouring rain just to make sure I had an umbrella." Merlin squeezes his hand. "There will never be another like you, Arthur. I don't want anyone else." 

The heavy lump that settles in his throat makes it nearly impossible to speak. His eyes sting hot and begin to water, vision blurring along the edges.  

"Merlin, I'm..."

When she puts her arms around him, folding him in, Arthur freezes. It never fails to surprise him just how freely Merlin hugs people, just like her mother. Arthur wonders, however briefly, what it would feel like to have a parent like Hunith, someone there to hug you whenever you needed it. He might even be a little jealous if he wasn't so sad already. 

Once he recovers, Arthur sits up and hugs her back tightly, face turned into her neck and nose pressed to her hair. "I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I'm so, so sorry, Merlin."

"Shh." Merlin combs her fingers through the short strands of hair at his nape. "I know you are, prat." He's not sure if he just imagines the kiss brushed to his temple.

Some time later, Merlin pulls back and takes his face in her hands, thumbing away the wetness beneath his eyes. She looks him over for a long moment before the edge of her mouth lifts up in a tiny, affectionate smile.

"You look like hell," she says, not unkindly.

"I _feel_ like hell," Arthur sighs, eyes drooping shut as he leans into the cool touch of her hands. The temptation to just fall asleep with her in his lap is strong, but...

"Do you forgive me?" he asks, uncertain in the way his voice shakes.

Merlin doesn't answer his question. Instead, she kisses the corner of his lips—a barely there, butterfly touch that makes Arthur grab hold of her elbow to draw her back in for a proper one on the mouth, slow and searching. Merlin keeps one hand on his chest and the other goes to his shoulder as she shifts up on her knees, angling her head down to better kiss him. She slants her mouth against his, opens it, and Arthur tastes the tart-sweetness of raspberries and chocolate on her tongue. Suddenly, sleeping is the last thing on his mind.

Merlin breaks the kiss with a soft peck to his mouth and smiles down at him in that mischievous way he knows all too well. 

"I, um..." Arthur finds it difficult to formulate words when his head feels like its been stuffed full of cotton. "I take it you forgive me, then?"

Merlin idly wraps a strand of his hair around her finger. "You've a lot of making up to do before I forgive you," she tells him, looking at him significantly.

Arthur strokes his hands up and down her back, pleased when he discovers she's not wearing a bra under her t-shirt, just like at home. He reaches up and removes the large clip holding her hair in place, letting it tumble down her narrow shoulders the way he likes best. He plants a kiss to the soft, smooth skin of her jaw and throws the hair clip aside carelessly.

"Where should I start?" he husks.

"Lie down and you'll find out," she teases, pushing him away. 

As Merlin moves off his lap, Arthur lies down willingly, eagerly enough that she bites her lip and shakes her head, clearly holding back laughter. Although Merlin is many things, predictable isn't one of them—but of all the things Arthur braces himself for, Merlin coming to lie down on top of him with her head tucked under his chin is not one of them. 

"... _What_."

"What?" Merlin asks around a yawn. "Oh my God, you actually thought—?" She kicks his leg with her foot. "Arthur, do you think I'm depraved enough to have sex with you in Gwen's living room?"

"Do you want an honest answer or a— Ow!" he hisses, as Merlin yanks at strands of his chest hair, huffing.

"I can't believe you!" she scolds. "We are not shagging on her sofa like a pair of horny teenagers!"

"It wouldn't be the first time!" Arthur insists. "Remember when we visited my dad for the weekend?" 

"That was different," Merlin sniffs. "I did it as a favor to you."

Arthur scoffs. "Really?" 

"Yes," she says pointedly. "I did it so that every time you visit him from now on, you'll see that armchair and remember me riding your dick while Uther was in his study down the hall. It'll make your stays without me much more bearable." 

His cheeks heat at the memory of Merlin squirming in his lap, one hand clamped over his mouth and the other shoved between her legs, mouth at his ear, panting, _"Quiet, Arthur, or your daddy will hear us."_ He doesn't think that will make visiting his father more bearable at all. In fact, he envisions a lot of long, sleepless nights spent wanking in his bed.

"That was my _dad's_ armchair, Merlin," Arthur laments. 

"I know," she replies smugly. Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Besides," Merlin adds like an afterthought, letting the movie play again as Arthur reaches over his head for the blanket, unfolds it, and throws it over them both. "What I have in mind for you requires more room than a sofa will permit."

Arthur's mouth goes dry, his blood instantly rushing south. "Are you trying to make me hard?"

Merlin shifts, throwing one leg over his own so she's straddling his thigh—which, of course, just adds to the problem. "Ah," she acknowledges, cheeky. "It's working."

"You're going to be the death of me," he accuses. 

"Death by blue balls," she says, and starts giggling like she's just made a fantastic joke. "Imagine the coroner's report!" She buries her face in his neck and laughs and laughs, her whole body shaking with it.

Arthur sighs exasperatedly, but strokes his hand through her hair anyway, waiting for her to calm down. At one point the muffled sounds of her laughter become too much and elicit a snort out of him, followed by a chuckle, and then suddenly  _he's_  laughing too; so the pair of them lie there like that, red-faced and laughing about nothing. 

After some time, Merlin eventually quiets and turns her face back towards the movie. Arthur watches her for a few minutes, at how the light plays over her skin and the way she crinkles her nose to get rid of an apparent itch. Something heavy settles in the pit of his stomach, churning uneasily and making the smile fade from his face. 

"That was our first real fight."

Merlin stiffens almost imperceptibly. "Yeah," she says in a small voice that's nothing like her. "S'pose it was." 

Arthur swallows, hesitating. "I imagine there will be more," he goes on. "Fights are inevitable in any relationship, no matter how strong."

"You're right," she says calmly, but her hand on his arm squeezes a little. Arthur wonders if she even realizes it. 

"I'm going to try and be better," he promises her. "But I'm not — not perfect, and I know somewhere down the line I'm bound to slip up and say more things that I don't mean, things that will probably hurt you." Arthur tightens his arms around her, wishing he could apologize for all of his future mistakes right now. "But if that happens, I just want you to remember what's most important to me." 

Merlin leans up on her elbow and looks at him in the eye. "What's that?" she asks, looking genuinely puzzled.

Arthur shakes his head, smiling. "I'm looking at her."

It comes as a pleasant surprise when Merlin glances away shyly, her cheeks reddening. The smile she gifts him is soft and private, just her two front teeth peeking out as she dimples, eyes twinkling. It's the kind of smile that makes his heart beat faster and pulse race, the kind he desperately wants to take a picture of but will have to settle for just remembering in stunning clarity and detail.

Merlin plants a tender kiss to his cheek, just below his eye, and Arthur smiles so hard his eyes crinkle. She settles back down against his chest with a content little hum as his arms wind back around her. 

"You're such a huge romantic sap," she accuses, not sounding displeased.

"It's one of my more endearing qualities."

"So it is," she agrees sleepily.

Arthur waits for Merlin to fall asleep before switching off the movie, bidding a silent but salty goodbye to Chris Pine. Sleep starts pulling him under as soon as the room is blanketed in darkness and Arthur's attempt at stifling his yawn backfires, Merlin snuffling and mumbling a little in her sleep. He has a presentation due in a day and an apology text to send Morgana in the morning and will probably wake up with a horrible crick in his neck, but none of that really matters right now. 

Because the only thing that does is fast asleep in his arms.

 

** ••• **  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) x


End file.
